


Ghost Stories

by Salty_but_Sweet



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, One Shot, Post Halo: Infinite trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_but_Sweet/pseuds/Salty_but_Sweet
Summary: He could feel Cortana’s apprehensiveness, “Do you think it’s okay for us to go there?”John’s brows furrowed, “We need to repair the ship,” he told her point-blank.Cortana made a small sound as if not sure of herself or of what she was hearing. “I meant, we are both officially dead.”Short, stupid and escalating JohnxCortana mayhem ahead.





	Ghost Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was spurred by a news article that mentioned a Finnish sniper, Simo Häyhä, from the 1940s. Häyhä had gotten injured a week before the war ended, and while surviving, the papers at the time had proclaimed him dead. So, during his recovery, Häyhä had entertained himself by cutting articles about his death from the papers. That seemed a little similar to what Chief might do. After a few days, the Cortana part came to mind, and well, yeah. Sometimes I wonder whether I should just be banned from posting these half-absurd things. But I sincerely like them….
> 
> Disclaimer: Halo belongs to Bungie & 343i.

”The target should be fine.”

Chief made a tiny course change to the left but didn’t make any other noticeable actions based on Cortana’s words.

“The city’s surveillance shouldn’t reach us,” Cortana said. Her life-sized avatar was taking support from the wall to keep herself upright. Chief was guiding the ship, sitting to her left.

Technically she could have landed them, but for some unspoken agreement, she let the Chief fly manual. Maybe she didn’t want to test whether he would allow her to take control of the ship, even if they both knew she could probably convince him to change his mind.

They landed on a small clearing amidst the trees and shrubs.

The medium-sized city would be about a few hours trip from where they landed.

However, after a long drive on the Warthog and as the city came to view from behind the trees, John could feel Cortana tense in the back of his mind.

He waited for a second whether Cortana would open up by her own accord, but as the silence went on, he probed on the subject, “What is it?”

He could feel Cortana’s apprehensiveness, “Do you think it’s okay for us to go there?”

John’s brows furrowed, “We need to repair the ship,” he told her point-blank.

Cortana made a small sound as if not sure of herself or of what she was hearing. “I meant, we are both officially dead.”

A silence followed her words.

_Cortana had been beyond furious when she had found out that they had killed him. To rob John out of his existence and right for life. _

_For the second time._

_She was going to make them pay. She wasn’t sure yet on the ‘how’-part with the small tweaks Halsey had done to programming. She could just put her evil-twin to do the job if all else failed._

_John had taken it as it was, “We’ll finish the mission,” deepening her frustration._

“What do you think they’ll do?” John asked her with a tint of humor in the raise of one brow.

“You are enjoying this.”

The small curve of the lips was enough of an answer.

* * *

John was not the type of person to enjoy a walk amidst unknown crowds. Not to mention, that his armor made them more the visible. But somehow, there was lightness — if not a Spartan version of a bounce — in his steps. Cortana had a feeling that John was showing off, sporting the little-shit attitude she knew lied in his personality somewhere.

And she was enjoying it too. The awed shock of the by-passers, the way a young man tripped on his own feet when staring at the Chief, and the way Chief stopped to look if he should help the poor kid back up.

And who cared whether the UNSC or ONI was informed where they were. They had no means to fight the war against her rampant self, they needed them, out here, on the loose, to fight it for them.

And as the people moved out of their way, Cortana for once got the actual remainder that they were _legendary_.

Of course, they weren’t here for the fame, rose pedal covered streets or arias. No, it would have been unethical to bathe in it.

But they were dead, so, technically they weren’t — swimming in it, engulfed by it.

At bare maximum, they were just doing it to take a sip of the irony of it all.

Just as she was commenting John on their journey left to the right shop, John stopped and made more people recede out of his way as he gazed at another shop’s window.

A large picture of his own self stared back from the poster attached to the window. The number plate on his armor visible.

He was confused for a second before Cortana’s articulated words came from his speakers, “They sell souvenirs.” There was no denying of the barely suppressed merriment in her carefree voice.

John stared at the sign on the door. And without much further thought, he made the decision and walked into the shop.

There was stuff about this particular planet, some things about Earth — and a lot of things about him.

Posters, tea mugs, the lot, but as he eyed through the articles of his death, round black stones on the window-faced table caught his eye.

A short poem titled “A Big Hero” was engraved on the surface with fake gold.

Cortana didn’t make a noise as the Chief’s eyes scanned over the text. She was monitoring his brainwaves to know whether to state that the text was the corniest thing she had ever read or whether something more compassionate was needed despite her figurative shaking from laughter.

However, John beat her to it. “Should we buy it?”

“You _can’t_ be serious. “

True, John had been more upbeat when they had been reunited. Well her logical side wasn’t sure on her part in the we, but anyway. There was a certain trace of relief, wittiness — akin almost to giddiness — underlying his actions.

John let his hand trace the stone like an articulate buyer while Cortana waited for the decision.

“If you are buying that, I want one of those AI-repellant fan -things.”

The Chief tilted his head. “I don’t want an AI-repellant,” he stated with humor in his voice.

“Well, we might still need one,” Cortana replied unamused. And after a small silence, “Okay, then the medium-sized action figure there.”

Had it been a movie, it would have been made into slow-motion how John moved his head to see what Cortana was on about. There, on the wooden countertop, were mini-replicas of him in his Spartan armor (with some artistic liberties with the Mark), posing, holding an assault rifle — you could even buy a small Pelican or a Warthog to go with the package.

He could see the warning lights. 

“_You _want to buy a miniature version of _me_?”

Despite meant as a humorous jab, there was an odd tightness in his lips, as if recognizing the relationship territory he wasn’t yet sure how to approach.

“And you want to buy a piece of rock with an elegy to yourself. Least you can do is buy something for a girl.”

* * *

And so it went. One shopkeeper muted out of shock. A small disbelieving crowd following in their wake for a few blocks. Similarly eventful trip to the shop that sold enough scrap metal and stuff for their fixes.

…And John sighing inwardly at Cortana’s mini-avatar performed adventures of him running around the console surfaces of the cockpit, majestically jumping to the ground and saving the day.

A tiny part of him desired to applaud every time Cortana made his mini-figure bow to the audience at the end of each play, but… maybe it was best not to spur her on.

He hadn’t bought the AI-repellant after all.


End file.
